


Foiled

by tiltedsyllogism



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Gift Fic, religious identity, religious observances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiltedsyllogism/pseuds/tiltedsyllogism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even John "Three Continents" Watson hits the occasional cultural barrier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foiled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [professorfangirl (lizeckhart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizeckhart/gifts).



> With thanks to [thirtypercent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thirtypercent/pseuds/thirtypercent) for some important tweaks.

Frost crystals that crunched in the mud underfoot weren’t enough to stop Sherlock, who immediately swooped down like a great bat to scrutinize the corpse’s fingernails. John, for his part, remained at eye level – he was a background player here, since it was pretty well obvious that the man had died from having his throat cut – and focused his attention on the new sergeant. There had to be some kind of compensation for being out on such a bloody cold day. Inspector Frank had been on scene with them investigating the legs that washed up on the South Bank last month, although of course there hadn’t been time to chat anybody up during that case. But no ring, he had noticed, because Sherlock wasn’t the only one who could observe things, was he. John now wandered over to her, deliberately casual, thrilled and a bit smug when she smiled at him.

“Looks like we’re in for quite a bit of standing around,” he said. 

“Does seem that way,” she answered, glancing over at Sherlock. “He takes his time, doesn’t he?”

John frowned at the detective’s hunched form. Sherlock had lifted the dead man’s arm and now appeared to be sniffing at his cuffs. “Yeah, he’s thorough, that’s for sure. There must be more to this one than he’d thought, we almost didn’t come down here.” John bit down on his tongue, literally bit it; he didn’t want to be talking about Sherlock right now. He glanced back at Sergeant Frank and smiled. “Glad we did, though.”

She smiled again, and Christ, she was pretty. “Yeah, me too.”

They stood like that a moment, while John cast about for what he could say next. 

“So, uh.” He decided to play it safe; there were worse things than a cliché. “Got any plans for Christmas?”

Her eyes flickered away uncomfortably. “Not, uh, really my thing.”

“Oh,” said John, slightly taken aback. “Do you, um…”

“Jewish, John,” said Sherlock, who had managed to approach without John noticing, and just in time to hear John stumble a bit, because of course he had.

John gave Sergeant Frank a quick, jerking nod. “Sorry. Right, yes. _So_ sorry.”

She shook her head and smiled, but looked away. “It’s fine.”

“John,” said Sherlock impatiently. “there’s a rash on the inner wrists, I need you to look at it.”

“Yeah, coming.” He gave what he hoped was an apologetic smile. “So, um, Hannukah, then….”

“Ended over two weeks ago,” Sherlock called as he walked back over to the body. “ _Now_ , John.”

John saw Sergeant Frank studying her own shoes, and resigned himself to a botched job. He trotted over and bent down to examine the corpse’s wrist. “I thought Hannukah lined up with Christmas, more or less,” he said, a bit plaintively.

“Lunar calendar,” Sherlock replied. John kept his eyes on the corpse; he could hear Sherlock’s why-have-a-brain-at-all-if-you’re-not-going-to-turn-it-on expression without seeing it. 

“There’s always something,” he muttered. 

“Or, as in this case, several things,” Sherlock returned, congenial in victory. “You do frequently complain that other people’s idiotic assumptions about our relationship prevent you from succeeding with women,” he continued brightly. “It must make for a nice change of pace that you’re the idiot this time.”

“Yeah, great,” said John. “Right bit of cheer, that is, thanks." He snorted. “Tell you what, Sherlock, I’m going to buy you some of those little chocolate coins, and peel off the wrappers, and fill them up with shit and give them to you.”

Sherlock looked up at him, eyes crinkling. “A simple lump of coal in the stocking would be more appropriate, given our own tradition, don’t you think?”

“You might get both, if you’re not careful,” John countered. He’d done a joke bit of coal last year at Christmas – wrapped up nicely in paper with a bow – and had been planning to do it again, even though Sherlock had guessed it right away. Maybe he really would do both. After all, it never hurt to diversify.


End file.
